


the scars you bear from a previous war

by silverfoxflower



Series: Quiet Days in Kaer Morhen (Geralt/Eskel and Geralt & Eskel comment fics) [2]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, References to medical trauma, Trial Of The Grasses (The Witcher)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-17 04:22:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29587188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverfoxflower/pseuds/silverfoxflower
Summary: Eskel had been listening to Geralt’s screams for days.
Relationships: Eskel & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Series: Quiet Days in Kaer Morhen (Geralt/Eskel and Geralt & Eskel comment fics) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2173686
Kudos: 24





	the scars you bear from a previous war

Eskel had been listening to Geralt’s screams for days.

They rang through the keep. Desperate. Savage. The older Witchers were insulated from them in the front rooms, but Witcher candidates were spared not a moment. Preparing them for what would happen next.

“He’s pretty fucking lucky to go first,” Lambert muttered, crossing his arms over his skinny chest. “At least he doesn’t have to listen to _himself_ wailing like a woman, making it impossible to get any fucking _sleep_ -” 

“I’d like to see you bite your tongue after laying on their table for _ten days_ ,” Eskel ground out. No candidate had been kept for longer than seven. Eskel’s own nerves were frayed. If Lambert so much as uttered another syllable, Eskel thought darkly, he would set upon the younger boy and beat him into the dirt.

Eskel almost hoped he would.

But it seemed that Lambert read the threat in Eskel’s eyes, for he backed off with a sneer and loped away, off to throw stones at crows or whatever else the fool, feral child did for amusement. 

Geralt was not returned to the room he shared with Eskel for another three days. 

Eskel dashed off as soon as he heard, ignoring the shouts of Vesemir behind him. He would be punished, he knew, thrashed or hung by his feet for daring to leave in the middle of training. He didn’t care at all.

The mage Adiagis was bent over Geralt’s body, prodding at it with a satisfied air as the adept he had tapped for his assistant lowered him into the bed. 

Eskel froze in the doorway, his heart in his throat. Geralt looked … so thin. Pale. His limbs sprawling across the sheets like a rag doll. His beet-red hair, a source of constant consternation and jibes from the other boys, was streaked through with white. 

“If he awakes, we will take him straight away for the Trial of Dreams,” Adiagis was saying, “he has taken to it all better than I could have imagined. I have high hopes for this one.” He stood, leaving Geralt uncovered behind him, his tunic pulled open to expose the sickening pattern of yellow and green bruises on his throat from the belt pulled tight to hold him down. 

“ _If_ he awakens?” Eskel asked loudly as Adiagis walked past him.

Adiagis glanced at Eskel, then continued walking. The adept avoided his eyes.

“Geralt,” Eskel whispered, rushing to Geralt’s side, stopping short of touching him, his hands clenching to shaking fists at his side. Geralt was senseless, reacting not at all to Eskel’s presence or his words. Eskel felt a wave of helplessness wash over him as he sank to his knees, carefully pressing his ear to Geralt’s chest to hear his heart. 

His heartbeat was sluggish, his breathing staggered and shallow as if it was struggling through wet sand. 

Eskel swallowed. “Geralt, please,” he tried again, gently jostling Geralt’s shoulder. But there was nothing. Geralt’s head rolled to the side, exposing the pale, vulnerable length of his neck. 

“Eskel!” Lambert’s voice rang down the hall. Eskel flinched as he heard the boy skid to a stop behind him. “Oh,” Lambert said. “So that’s why.” 

“Did Vesemir send you?” Eskel bit out, glaring at Lambert through burning eyes. 

Lambert made a dismissive sound, bending over Geralt’s body with a curious, detached expression that reminded Eskel too much of Adiagis for comfort. Perhaps too roughly, Eskel shoved Lambert away from the bed and pulled the blanket over Geralt’s body, tucking it gently around his shoulders. It was poor protection, indeed. But it was all he could do.

“You should get used to it, you know,” Lambert said, his voice clipped. “That’s what’s gonna happen to all of us. You sooner than me, but so.” 

The thought that Eskel would be on the table next had escaped his mind as soon as it entered. “I don’t care if Vesemir breaks my back for this,” Eskel said bitterly. “I’m staying with him until he wakes.” 

Lambert snorted. “Vesemir didn’t send me. And I wouldn’t have done shit for him had he asked.” He walked to the door, pausing to rap his knuckles against the wood of the frame. “I’d lock this, though. If you don’t want to be interrupted.” And with that he was gone.

Numbly, Eskel did as Lambert suggested, sliding the iron bolt home and wondering how much time he had before his trainers would start beating down the door. He pulled a chair up to the side of the bed and sat, his elbows pressing painfully into his knees as he leaned forward with a low sigh. 

On the bed, Geralt’s breath rattled through his parted lips like dry leaves across frozen winter ground.

–

Eskel slept poorly. He had tried not to sleep at all. Nightmares threaded through his fitful, drowsy moments, and each time Geralt coughed, Eskel would startle awake. 

But still. Before he knew it, he was blinking his eyes open in the yellow morning light. Beside him, on the nightstand was a jug of water that had not been there before, and a tray of supper. 

Eskel’s head whipped to the door to find it unlocked, though there was no sign of force. 

“Hey,” Geralt’s voice. 

He was laying in the pillows, smiling weakly through cracked lips. He was _awake._

“Could I get some water?” Geralt asked faintly, and Eskel was clumsy in his rush to comply, his hand shaking on the handle of the jug. When he turned back, Geralt was pushing himself painfully to a seated position. 

“How are you feeling?” Eskel asked, his voice low as he raised the cup to Geralt’s lips. 

Though Geralt seemed eager enough to drink, most of it still spilled over his chin, darkening the collar of his tunic. 

“I’ve had better,” Geralt said dryly, and turned his head away to cough. 

Eskel drew in a breath, then released it, shakily. He felt Geralt reach for him, and allowed himself to be drawn down, his forehead pressed to Geralt’s collarbone. Geralt’s grip was weak, but his skin was warm, and Eskel allowed himself to close his eyes. 

“Was it bad?” Eskel mumbled, holding Geralt as tightly as he dared. 

“… yes,” Geralt said. There was the unspoken implication that there would be worse to come in the Trial of Dreams. 

And when that time came, Eskel thought, he would be right at Geralt’s bedside, waiting as long as it took. 

**Author's Note:**

> my [tumblr](https://greyduckgreygoose.tumblr.com/tagged/myfic)


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